As another duel started, the titanic holograms appearing in the air, Lyssa found it was hard to focus. There had been a tiger in the pit. Abel had been set up to fight it. And he had. And he won.

Her mood had initially lifted, seeing the way he held his sword the first several rounds. He was a professional, or at least an amateur with a steady foundation. He moved around the competitors as though it were a dance, his feet light, almost flamboyant. He was one of the few who had shown any sort of mastery with their chosen weapon.

Perhaps that was why he had been forced to stand face to face with the tiger, the striped beast that had appeared, segment by segment, a toy pieced together by whatever was handling the festival. It was trying to challenge him, or maybe test him. Trying to push his limits. It had succeeded; Lyssa had covered her mouth with a whimper when he’d refused to give up and had been clawed, blood flowing from the wound.

Part of her wished he lost his next round. When competitors lost, they appeared, sitting on a pillow in one of the stands, just as confused as the last. She wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay. And she wanted to know how Sarah was doing, if she had come, and just to catch up on the hellish days they had spent in the city.

The holograms vanished. Lyssa had been deep in her thoughts, not paying attention to the match. Two more figures appeared and she recognized one of them.

Bernard carried a glaive, or maybe it was a halberd, the blade of which was as long as his forearm, the spiked end long and straight. His face was smug, brimming with confidence. Across from him, a woman with a mace.

He seemed to be lucking out in the selection process, getting skipped for longer bouts than the other competitors. And he’d yet to compete against someone who wasn’t suffering from a disadvantage in the weapon department. This woman had a mace, the man before her a machete. They always gave up before things could get too far, before an arm could get lost.

Lyssa shivered at the memory.

Bernard was fearless as well, so it was not an unbelievable occurrence. He ran at the women, full speed ahead, ready to swing and stab, his hands tight on the long shaft of the glaive.

In response, the woman took several steps backwards, lifting her mace as though to block an incoming strike, lowering it and getting into a wider stance, then again lifting it. No one knew how to use their weapons.

Bernard swung once he was within reach, slicing the mace’s wooden handle in two. She dropped to her knees and surrendered.

Lyssa wondered why so many people had joined the competition if they knew nothing of fighting.

Crashing waves.

A sense of vertigo caused Lyssa to sit upright, her body feeling as though it was being toyed with. When she glanced around, she saw she was sitting in a wooden tube of sorts with several others. A shaft was sitting on her lap.

A boat? she thought incredulously.

The entire pit was filled with water, the sands nearly invisible beneath the waves which roiled and crashed, sending the boat up and down as though an invisible storm was raging around them.

There were three others in the boat with her, each looking around confused. Then she noticed the other boat across the pit, all four of its passengers rocking up and down. She tried to stand, to get a better look, but nearly toppled herself and the others beside her into the blue waters.

Knock the other team into the water.

The voice spoke. It had given them their rules.

“You heard him!” the man beside her said, grabbing the shaft sitting on his lap and using it to maneuver the oar it was connected to out of the water, then back in to push them forward. “Row, row!”

Lyssa grabbed her own oar, trying to copy the man’s motion, lifting and pushing, lifting and pushing.

“Up on up! Pull on down!” the man said again, “UP!”

She lifted the oar out of the water, then pushed it back in and through at his command. Their boat was set in motion, creeping forward with each of his yells.

“You’re pretty good at this,” a woman in front of Lyssa said.

“I used to be on a rowing team,” the man said with some pride, then cussed, “I just told the whole city that, didn’t I?”

The stands, and their boat, roared with laughter.

“They’re not even moving yet,” Lyssa pointed out.

The other vessel had its four oars lifting and raising in discord, some pushing forward, some backwards. The passengers were pointing towards them with worry as they approached.

“We could try ramming them, but the damage would be minimal. These boats are too low, we might sink ourselves instead.” The man said. “What’s our plan?”

Another man, sitting in front of Lyssa, shook at his oar, then snapped it out of the slot it was set into. “If you get close, I’ll whack ‘em out.”

It sounded like good enough plan that no one argued. Lyssa rowed, arms already tiring, until they were nearly within oars-reach of the other boat.

“Ah, I don’t think I can hit a kid!” the man in front of her said as he unsteadily rose to his feet, brandishing his oar as ungracefully as the competitors did their weapons in the arena matches, “Maybe she’ll just drop out with the others.”

A kid?

Lyssa, careful not to tilt the boat, leaned her head to the side, peeking around the man at the other boat. Four passengers. Three men and a young girl. She was wearing a white dress, a red ribbon fluttering in her hair. Her heart began to race.

“I could knock her off,” Lyssa said, hands tightening on her oar. So she was here. That meant she was somewhere in the stands. She had to look for her.

The other man beside her gave a worried look but no words were uttered.

Once they were close enough, with a grunt, the man swung the oar, catching someone on the shoulder.

“You dick!” the struck man yelled, snapping his own oar out of the slot and standing up, giving it a swing. The action sent him into the water, but he managed to connect with their own swinger. Both men plunged into the waters and vanished.

The boats rocked on the impossible currents, a meter apart. They were spinning in place; Lyssa becoming closest to the other vessel. She pulled up her oar, getting onto her shaking legs. As another man got up to face her with his oar, he accidentally plunged himself into the waters. The pit around them pulsated with the laughter of the crowd.

The current drew the boats apart. “Get in and row!” the man in her boat said, and so she sat, snapping her oar into place and heaving them in a circle and towards the other vessel again.

An oar caught their leader, the skilled rower, in the temple, causing Lyssa to jump and the man to scream, then tumble off into the water.

A man stood on the other boat, grabbing another oar from a slot. The young girl looked as though she hadn’t moved an inch since the contest had started, the wooden shaft of the oar sitting evenly on her lap.

“I’m not getting hit,” the other woman in her boat said as the man settled the second oar onto his shoulder like a javelin. She leapt off into the waters, causing the crowd to grow raucous again.

Lyssa was alone against the two. But it was truly only against one, as the girl seemed uninterested in the matter at hand.

That pissed her off even more.

The man threw the oar. It missed her by a foot. She shivered.

I don’t even care if I win. Why am I still sitting here? She watched as he took the last remaining oar from the lap of the young girl. As he steadied himself on the boat. I’m risking a potentially fatal wound, for what? Some points in Bara?

She looked at the girl, staring into her eyes. No. If I lose, I might lose sight of her forever. This could be my last time to talk with her.

But she couldn’t say what she wanted, not here with the entirety of the arena listening.

Their boats were drifting closer now. Lyssa’s hands were growing cold as she realized the man wouldn’t miss this time. She had to drop into the waters or get mercilessly struck down.

She stared at the girl, no recognition displayed in her eyes. “Zero?” she called out to her. “Don’t let him do this.”

The girl tilted her head, as though suddenly interested. The man stopped, looking down at the girl sitting behind him. “Hey, you know her?”

Zero stood, too light to cause any shaking of the boat. She leaned forward, squinting her eyes as she stared at Lyssa. Then recognition flashed over her face. “Liar Lyssa!”

Lyssa’s face grew hot. After a long few seconds, she managed to force a fake smile to her face. “Hey cutie. How is the purse?”

The girl shrugged, looking up into the crowds. “I dunno. I left it on the train.”

Lyssa’s jaw tightened. She struggled to keep her anger in check. The precious minutes that she and Abel had spent on the train, bargaining with the girl who had taken the purse from its original resting place, had been the final minutes of Annie’s life. “Oh.” She managed to say. Her fake smile was gone and it took all of her willpower to stop from yelling her mind at the brat.

The girl looked up at the man standing on the boat. A grin crossed her face and she swung her small fist into the back of his knee, dropping him and causing him to roll off into the water. She howled with high-pitched laughter, the crowds echoing around them. Then she turned to Lyssa.

“Do you want to win?”

Is this a trick question? She licked her lips. “Sure.”

The girl walked to the edge of the boat, rocking on her heels, trying to balance herself. Then she lifted a leg before her, as though to take another step, but there was only water and her body plunged into the deep.

Congratulations to the victors! Now, on to the next fight!

Lyssa was again in the stands. Her panel again read: Bara Gained.

She let out a long, deep breath, relieved to be out of the fray once more. Those sitting beside her elbowed her, congratulating her on winning, but they could see her mind was elsewhere. As were her eyes.

Skimming the seating for the girl. She was in the arena, there was no doubt. It was a matter of finding her. Lyssa had stood a yard away from her. Now she needed to close that distance again.

Just to talk.

Just a peaceful talk, that was all.